The Whale Tooth

It was in the early days in Fiji, when John Starhurst arose in the mission
house at Rewa Village and announced his intention of carrying the gospel
throughout all Viti Levu. Now Viti Levu means the "Great Land," it being the
largest island in a group composed of many large islands, to say nothing of
hundreds of small ones. Here and there on the coasts, living by most
precarious tenure, was a sprinkling of missionaries, traders, beche-de-mer
fishers, and whaleship deserters. The smoke of the hot ovens arose under their
windows, and the bodies of the slain were dragged by their doors on the way to
the feasting.

The Lotu, or the Worship, was progressing slowly, and, often, in crablike
fashion. Chiefs, who announced themselves Christians and were welcomed into
the body of the chapel, had a distressing habit of backsliding in order to
partake of the flesh of some favorite enemy. Eat or be eaten had been the law
of the land; and eat or be eaten promised to remain the law of the land for a
long time to come. There were chiefs, such as Tanoa, Tuiveikoso, and
Tuikilakila, who had literally eaten hundreds of their fellow men. But among
these gluttons Ra Undreundre ranked highest. Ra Undreundre lived at Takiraki.
He kept a register of his gustatory exploits. A row of stones outside his
house marked the bodies he had eaten. This row was two hundred and thirty
paces long, and the stones in it numbered eight hundred and seventy-two. Each
stone represented a body. The row of stones might have been longer, had not Ra
Undreundre unfortunately received a spear in the small of his back in a bush
skirmish on Somo Somo and been served up on the table of Naungavuli, whose
mediocre string of stones numbered only forty-eight.

The hard-worked, fever-stricken missionaries stuck doggedly to their task, at
times despairing, and looking forward for some special manifestation, some
outburst of Pentecostal fire that would bring a glorious harvest of souls. But
cannibal Fiji had remained obdurate. The frizzle-headed man-eaters were loath
to leave their fleshpots so long as the harvest of human carcases was
plentiful. Sometimes, when the harvest was too plentiful, they imposed on the
missionaries by letting the word slip out that on such a day there would be a
killing and a barbecue. Promptly the missionaries would buy the lives of the
victims with stick tobacco, fathoms of calico, and quarts of trade beads.
Natheless the chiefs drove a handsome trade in thus disposing of their surplus
live meat. Also, they could always go out and catch more.

It was at this juncture that John Starhurst proclaimed that he would carry the
Gospel from coast to coast of the Great Land, and that he would begin by
penetrating the mountain fastnesses of the headwaters of the Rewa River. His
words were received with consternation.

The native teachers wept softly. His two fellow missionaries strove to
dissuade him. The King of Rewa warned him that the mountain dwellers would
surely kai-kai him--kai-kai meaning "to eat"--and that he, the King of Rewa,
having become Lotu, would be put to the necessity of going to war with the
mountain dwellers. That he could not conquer them he was perfectly aware.
That they might come down the river and sack Rewa Village he was likewise
perfectly aware. But what was he to do? If John Starhurst persisted in going
out and being eaten, there would be a war that would cost hundreds of lives.

Later in the day a deputation of Rewa chiefs waited upon John Starhurst. He
heard them patiently, and argued patiently with them, though he abated not a
whit from his purpose. To his fellow missionaries he explained that he was not
bent upon martyrdom; that the call had come for him to carry the Gospel into
Viti Levu, and that he was merely obeying the Lord's wish.

To the traders who came and objected most strenuously of all, he said: "Your
objections are valueless. They consist merely of the damage that may be done
your businesses. You are interested in making money, but I am interested in
saving souls. The heathen of this dark land must be saved."

John Starhurst was not a fanatic. He would have been the first man to deny the
imputation. He was eminently sane and practical.

He was sure that his mission would result in good, and he had private visions
of igniting the Pentecostal spark in the souls of the mountaineers and of
inaugurating a revival that would sweep down out of the mountains and across
the length and breadth of the Great Land from sea to sea and to the isles in
the midst of the sea. There were no wild lights in his mild gray eyes, but
only calm resolution and an unfaltering trust in the Higher Power that was
guiding him.

One man only he found who approved of his project, and that was Ra Vatu, who
secretly encouraged him and offered to lend him guides to the first foothills.
John Starhurst, in turn, was greatly pleased by Ra Vatu's conduct. From an
incorrigible heathen, with a heart as black as his practices, Ra Vatu was
beginning to emanate light. He even spoke of becoming Lotu. True, three years
before he had expressed a similar intention, and would have entered the church
had not John Starhurst entered objection to his bringing his four wives along
with him. Ra Vatu had had economic and ethical objections to monogamy.
Besides, the missionary's hair-splitting objection had offended him; and, to
prove that he was a free agent and a man of honor, he had swung his huge war
club over Starhurst's head. Starhurst had escaped by rushing in under the club
and holding on to him until help arrived. But all that was now forgiven and
forgotten. Ra Vatu was coming into the church, not merely as a converted
heathen, but as a converted polygamist as well. He was only waiting, he
assured Starhurst, until his oldest wife, who was very sick, should die.

John Starhurst journeyed up the sluggish Rewa in one of Ra Vatu's canoes. This
canoe was to carry him for two days, when, the head of navigation reached, it
would return. Far in the distance, lifted into the sky, could be seen the
great smoky mountains that marked the backbone of the Great Land. All day John
Starhurst gazed at them with eager yearning.

Sometimes he prayed silently. At other times he was joined in prayer by Narau,
a native teacher, who for seven years had been Lotu, ever since the day he had
been saved from the hot oven by Dr. James Ellery Brown at the trifling expense
of one hundred sticks of tobacco, two cotton blankets, and a large bottle of
painkiller. At the last moment, after twenty hours of solitary supplication
and prayer, Narau's ears had heard the call to go forth with John Starhurst on
the mission to the mountains.

"Master, I will surely go with thee," he had announced.

John Starhurst had hailed him with sober delight. Truly, the Lord was with him
thus to spur on so broken-spirited a creature as Narau.

"I am indeed without spirit, the weakest of the Lord's vessels," Narau
explained, the first day in the canoe.

"You should have faith, stronger faith," the missionary chided him.

Another canoe journeyed up the Rewa that day. But it journeyed an hour astern,
and it took care not to be seen. This canoe was also the property of Ra Vatu.
In it was Erirola, Ra Vatu's first cousin and trusted henchman; and in the
small basket that never left his hand was a whale tooth. It was a magnificent
tooth, fully six inches long, beautifully proportioned, the ivory turned
yellow and purple with age. This tooth was likewise the property of Ra Vatu;
and in Fiji, when such a tooth goes forth, things usually happen. For this is
the virtue of the whale tooth: Whoever accepts it cannot refuse the request
that may accompany it or follow it. The request may be anything from a human
life to a tribal alliance, and no Fijian is so dead to honor as to deny the
request when once the tooth has been accepted. Sometimes the request hangs
fire, or the fulfilment is delayed, with untoward consequences.

High up the Rewa, at the village of a chief, Mongondro by name, John Starhurst
rested at the end of the second day of the journey. In the morning, attended
by Narau, he expected to start on foot for the smoky mountains that were now
green and velvety with nearness. Mongondro was a sweet-tempered, mild-mannered
little old chief, short-sighted and afflicted with elephantiasis, and no
longer inclined toward the turbulence of war. He received the missionary with
warm hospitality, gave him food from his own table, and even discussed
religious matters with him. Mongondro was of an inquiring bent of mind, and
pleased John Starhurst greatly by asking him to account for the existence and
beginning of things. When the missionary had finished his summary of the
Creation according to Genesis, he saw that Mongondro was deeply affected. The
little old chief smoked silently for some time. Then he took the pipe from
his mouth and shook his head sadly.

"It cannot be," he said. "I, Mongondro, in my youth, was a good workman with
the adze. Yet three months did it take me to make a canoe--a small canoe, a
very small canoe. And you say that all this land and water was made by one
man--"

"Nay, was made by one God, the only true God," the missinary interrupted.

"It is the same thing," Mongondro went on, "that all the land and all the
water, the trees, the fish, and bush and mountains, the sun, the moon, and the
stars, were made in six days! No, no. I tell you that in my youth I was an
able man, yet did it require me three months for one small canoe. It is a
story to frighten children with; but no man can believe it."

"I am a man," the missionary said.

"True, you are a man. But it is not given to my dark understanding to know
what you believe."

"I tell you, I do believe that everything was made in six days."

"So you say, so you say," the old cannibal murmured soothingly.

It was not until after John Starhurst and Narau had gone off to bed that
Erirola crept into the chief's house, and, after diplomatic speech, handed the
whale tooth to Mongondro.

The old chief held the tooth in his hands for a long time. It was a beautiful
tooth, and he yearned for it. Also, he divined the request that must accompany
it. "No, no; whale teeth were beautiful," and his mouth watered for it, but he
passed it back to Erirola with many apologies.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In the early dawn John Starhurst was afoot, striding along the bush trail in
his big leather boots, at his heels the faithful Narau, himself at the heels
of a naked guide lent him by Mongondro to show the way to the next village,
which was reached by midday. Here a new guide showed the way. A mile in the
rear plodded Erirola, the whale tooth in the basket slung on his shoulder. For
two days more he brought up the missionary's rear, offering the tooth to the
village chiefs. But village after village refused the tooth. It followed so
quickly the missionary's advent that they divined the request that would be
made, and would have none of it.

They were getting deep into the mountains, and Erirola took a secret trail,
cut in ahead of the missionary, and reached the stronghold of the Buli of
Gatoka. Now the Buli was unaware of John Starhurst's imminent arrival. Also,
the tooth was beautiful--an extraordinary specimen, while the coloring of it
was of the rarest order. The tooth was presented publicly. The Buli of Gatoka,
seated on his best mat, surrounded by his chief men, three busy fly-brushers
at his back, deigned to receive from the hand of his herald the whale tooth
presented by Ra Vatu and carried into the mountains by his cousin, Erirola. A
clapping of hands went up at the acceptance of the present, the assembled
headman, heralds, and fly-brushers crying aloud in chorus:

"Soon will come a man, a white man," Erirola began, after the proper pause.
"He is a missionary man, and he will come today. Ra Vatu is pleased to desire
his boots. He wishes to present them to his good friend, Mongondro, and it is
in his mind to send them with the feet along in them, for Mongondro is an old
man and his teeth are not good. Be sure, O Buli, that the feet go along in the
boots. As for the rest of him, it may stop here."

The delight in the whale tooth faded out of the Buli's eyes, and he glanced
about him dubiously. Yet had he already accepted the tooth.

"A little thing like a missionary does not matter," Erirola prompted.

"No, a little thing like a missionary does not matter," the Buli answered,
himself again. "Mongondro shall have the boots. Go, you young men, some three
or four of you, and meet the missionary on the trail. Be sure you bring back
the boots as well."

"It is too late," said Erirola. "Listen! He comes now."

Breaking through the thicket of brush, John Starhurst, with Narau close on his
heels, strode upon the scene. The famous boots, having filled in wading the
stream, squirted fine jets of water at every step. Starhurst looked about him
with flashing eyes. Upborne by an unwavering trust, untouched by doubt or
fear, he exulted in all he saw. He knew that since the beginning of time he
was the first white man ever to tread the mountain stronghold of Gatoka.

The grass houses clung to the steep mountain side or overhung the rushing
Rewa. On either side towered a mighty precipice. At the best, three hours of
sunlight penetrated that narrow gorge. No cocoanuts nor bananas were to be
seen, though dense, tropic vegetation overran everything, dripping in airy
festoons from the sheer lips of the precipices and running riot in all the
crannied ledges. At the far end of the gorge the Rewa leaped eight hundred
feet in a single span, while the atmosphere of the rock fortress pulsed to the
rhythmic thunder of the fall.

From the Buli's house, John Starhurst saw emerging the Buli and his followers.

"I bring you good tidings," was the missionary's greeting.

"Who has sent you?" the Buli rejoined quietly.

"God."

"It is a new name in Viti Levu," the Buli grinned. "Of what islands, villages,
or passes may he be chief?"

"He is the chief over all islands, all villages, all passes," John Starhurst
answered solemnly. "He is the Lord over heaven and earth, and I am come to
bring His word to you."

"Has he sent whale teeth?" was the insolent query.

"No, but more precious than whale teeth is the--"

"It is the custom, between chiefs, to send whale teeth," the Buli interrupted.

"Your chief is either a niggard, or you are a fool, to come empty-handed into
the mountains. Behold, a more generous than you is before you."

So saying, he showed the whale tooth he had received from Erirola.

Narau groaned.

"It is the whale tooth of Ra Vatu," he whispered to Starhurst. "I know it
well. Now are we undone."

"A gracious thing," the missionary answered, passing his hand through his long
beard and adjusting his glasses. "Ra Vatu has arranged that we should be well
received."

But Narau groaned again, and backed away from the heels he had dogged so
faithfully.

"Ra Vatu is soon to become Lotu," Starhurst explained, "and I have come
bringing the Lotu to you."

"I want none of your Lotu," said the Buli, proudly. "And it is in my mind that
you will be clubbed this day."

The Buli nodded to one of his big mountaineers, who stepped forward, swinging
a club. Narau bolted into the nearest house, seeking to hide among the woman
and mats; but John Starhurst sprang in under the club and threw his arms
around his executioner's neck. From this point of vantage he proceeded to
argue. He was arguing for his life, and he knew it; but he was neither excited
nor afraid.

"It would be an evil thing for you to kill me," he told the man. "I have done
you no wrong, nor have I done the Buli wrong."

So well did he cling to the neck of the one man that they dared not strike
with their clubs. And he continued to cling and to dispute for his life with
those who clamored for his death.

"I am John Starhurst," he went on calmly. "I have labored in Fiji for three
years, and I have done it for no profit. I am here among you for good. Why
should any man kill me? To kill me will not profit any man."

The Buli stole a look at the whale tooth. He was well paid for the deed.

The missionary was surrounded by a mass of naked savages, all struggling to
get at him. The death song, which is the song of the oven, was raised, and his
expostulations could no longer be heard. But so cunningly did he twine and
wreathe his body about his captor's that the death blow could not be struck.
Erirola smiled, and the Buli grew angry.

"Away with you!" he cried. "A nice story to go back to the coast--a dozen of
you and one missionary, without weapons, weak as a woman, overcoming all of
you."

"Wait, O Buli," John Starhurst called out from the thick of the scuffle, "and
I will overcome even you. For my weapons are Truth and Right, and no man can
withstand them."

"Come to me, then," the Buli answered, "for my weapon is only a poor miserable
club, and, as you say, it cannot withstand you."

The group separated from him, and John Starhurst stood alone, facing the Buli,
who was leaning on an enormous, knotted warclub.

"Come to me, missionary man, and overcome me," the Buli challenged.

"Even so will I come to you and overcome you," John Starhurst made answer,
first wiping his spectacles and settling them properly, then beginning his
advance.

The Buli raised the club and waited.

"In the first place, my death will profit you nothing," began the argument.

"I leave the answer to my club," was the Buli's reply.

And to every point he made the same reply, at the same time watching the
missionary closely in order to forestall that cunning run-in under the lifted
club. Then, and for the first time, John Starhurst knew that his death was at
hand. He made no attempt to run in. Bareheaded, he stood in the sun and prayed
aloud--the mysterious figure of the inevitable white man, who, with Bible,
bullet, or rum bottle, has confronted the amazed savage in his every
stronghold. Even so stood John Starhurst in the rock fortress of the Buli of
Gatoka.

"Forgive them, for they know not what they do," he prayed. "O Lord! Have mercy
upon Fiji. Have compasssion for Fiji. O Jehovah, hear us for His sake, Thy
Son, whom Thou didst give that through Him all men might also become Thy
children. From Thee we came, and our mind is that to Thee we may return. The
land is dark, O Lord, the land is dark. But Thou art mighty to save. Reach
out Thy hand, O Lord, and save Fiji, poor cannibal Fiji."

The Buli grew impatient.

"Now will I answer thee," he muttered, at the same time swinging his club with
both hands.

Narau, hiding among the women and the mats, heard the impact of the blow and
shuddered. Then the death song arose, and he knew his beloved missionary's
body was being dragged to the oven as he heard the words: